Fearless Codename: Manhattan Supergirl
by The Immaterial Girl
Summary: Gaia Moore won't lie--she has a messed up life. An insane uncle, a deceased mother, an absent father--things couldn't be worse...that is until she meets Josie, a thirteen-year-old from California who certainly isn't fearless...but fights like she is. Can
1. Default Chapter

  


**000 Innocent Visage.**

She hated running.

It was early Friday morning—a Friday morning that gave new meaning to the phrase Freaky Friday. 

The inhabitants of NYC were crawling out of their beds to begin yet another busy day. Climbing on the subway, crowding the streets, buying coffee and yelling for taxis. Perhaps that is what you would see if you expecting a typical New York work day, which, in some ways, was not typical at all.

But if you were a young girl running for her life from two burly men, you wouldn't give a damn about how normal the day is. As a matter of fact, if someone had told her that Chicken Little had finally come out and said the sky was not going to fall, she probably wouldn't give a flying rat's ass. That was just how _bad_ the day was.

She sighed and ducked into a busy street corner. Strings of colorful insults came at her from behind from irate pedestrians that she'd accidentally run into while trying to get away. One of them even muttered something about kids these days. Panting like a dog, she bobbed and weaved her way through the street, running for her life.

__

Gee, great way to work off that chocolate cake from last night.

More people growled at her. She set her mouth in a grim line and kept on barreling forward as if someone had given her a syringe in the butt. It would have seemed kinda of funny somehow if she hadn't been in so much danger. Felice would have laughed.

_Where is she I wonder…_ she thought blindly. Kind of a stupid question since she lived in California with everyone else. She glanced up above her and found that she was now in Greenwich Village on Bleeker Street._ I don't even know where I am right now. _She frowned. _Bleeker Street?_ _Who do I know that lives around here?_

She paused for a moment to catch her breath. She glanced down at herself for a moment, not caring that she was clad in only her house shoes and pajamas. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were wild. Hell, if she had a mug and dirt smeared on her innocent visage, she could have gotten enough change to call her aunts long distance. 

Her eyes widened. _Aunt Jessica!_ She frantically searched her pullover pockets for some spare change. Maybe she can explain what just happened here.

Suddenly, Josie had a strange feeling creep up the back of her neck. __

Oh joy. Oh here we go again.

She turned to her left and shot forward, moving at a speed that would have rivaled a steroidized track star. She ignored the people this time, their faces blurring into one in her eyes, voice blending into a long drone in her ears.

_This day will never end._

  


  


josie>> 

  



	2. 001 Josie

  


Josie

Josephine Midori Yuy.

Josephine M. Yuy.

Josie Midori Yuy.

J. Midori Yuy.

Josie M. Yuy.

Being thirteen isn't easy for me. At this point the typical American girl would be sprouting into womanhood, carrying the burden of menstruation, PMS, and trying to stay within the style lines of the most catchy pop clone of the fifteen-minute period. Not me. Oh no. Not the super-freak from Gracia, California. I barely have a figure much less style. Style. Ew. Bad word only used for Mom and her modeling friends. And Uncle Tom. He was born with style.

Maybe it's in my blood. I am one-eighth Spanish, one-eighth French, one-fourth American, and one-half Japanese. I'm as indigenous as anyone here in the good ol' US of A, but yet I feel like I've been living in a place in which I do not belong. Maybe I've been watching too many Smallville reruns. That Clark Kent dude has it worse off than I do. (If Felice was around she'd ardently point out that he's all that with a bag of chips and Hawaiian Punch—and also bears a startling resemblance to Angel. But that's another story.)

My mind wonders when this all started. I can't quite grasp it anymore. It's out of my reach now, like the cookies on the top shelf or the top of the cherry blossom tree. (Those, by the way, is one of the prettiest things in the world. Every place should have one.)

Most people have told me that throughout my so-called charmed life, I've had it lucky. No wars, no famines—nothing of any significance.

Too bad that they are sadly mistaken.

I'm going to venture a guess that this all started with my father. He was (okay, I'm terrible to speak in the past tense because he's probably still alive) is one of the smartest guys I ever knew. He knew how to program a laptop within one minute of exploring it. He's the type of guy that everyone wondered about—the guy all the men hated and the women wanted to jump into bed with. Or at least that's how Mom put it one carefree day in what I'd like to call "chocolate jest."

Mom…

My mother was another thing entirely. She had been dubbed a beauty queen, a stuck-up Manhattan socialite—the type of person that could be a Southern debutante without being, well, Southern. Underneath her ambition she kept her insecurity, locked up tight in the treasure chest she called her heart. Even at my age, I could see it, bearing its ugly head whenever doubt crept up from the shadows. She, like my father, was (there goes the past tense again…) is fiercely intelligent. She also had a bad, fiery temper, and if you messed her about it'd rear its ugly head.

But I digress. Back to my father. He had been a mercenary in war, as Mom told me one night. A war, he confessed, that was pointless to begin with. But aren't all wars pointless? Can't all things be resolved?

I think yes but Tristian tells me this is not so. Not things are as simple as black and white. As Dad put it, it's a horrible shade of gray. My "charmed" life has been dotted with triumphs such as being able to wake up without changing my brain waves and snapping my ankle back into place after breaking it (which isn't pretty I assure you) and catastrophes such as growing into adolescence and watching my parents being hurt and captured over and over and over…

Now does that sound like a typical girl? Of course not. I'm the poster child for total and complete abnormality and everyone that meets me knows this.

Perhaps I am the one to save my family. 

  


  


by any means necessary>> 

  



	3. 002 DruggedOut Punky Brewster

  


**002 Drugged-out Punky Brewster.**

Life sucks.

Seventeen-year-old Gaia Moore was having a grand old time walking around the chess tables at Washington Square Park. As a matter of fact, she almost couldn't wait to call up Tatiana and have her come and join in. It was becoming a very mindless activity that was just perfect for the moment.

Stopping for a second to gather her thoughts, Gaia sat down on a park bench. She was utterly dismayed of the past events. First of all, she had just found out that George Niven, a good friend of her father and her most trusted (okay, at this point it would be more like 'least trusted') confidant, had sold her to the lions. He was a twenty-first century Benedict Arnold, pure and simple. Not only that, but he had lied to her about the intentions of Natasha, her father's so-called "girlfriend."

__

And all this to help him. Gaia's eyes narrowed. The thought of her scumbag uncle was almost enough to make her puke. He had been after her since what seemed like the beginning of time. Of course, to add to his debauchery for her and his diabolical contrivances to murder her sanity, he had also gotten Mr. Faithful over there on Perry Street to lie to her in the first place. _Gee…_ _Do I smell _Family Feud?

"Come back you dirty kid!"

Gaia looked up, her observant eyes seeking out any disturbance in the darkness. Gone were her woes about George and Loki. Well, at least for the moment. What she did see caused the usual adrenaline rush to coarse through her now electrified body.

A young girl was in the hairy-fisted clutches of three fiends, who were all in black and wearing 'cuz-I'm-a-thug expressions. She looked like a homeless girl from the throes of the darkness, too slender to be eating regularly. Or even better yet, a really unlucky child star who had too much of the highlife. A drugged-out Punky Brewster or something.

"Let me go!" the girl exclaimed, sounding like a victim from one of those _Lifetime_ movies. She wiggled and writhed her way a couple of inches—typical victim behavior. Gaia stood, ready spring out like rock on a slingshot and attack.

"Shut up, kid," said the ringleader (his black outfit seemed more affluent than the other two so Gaia guessed this was so). He pointed a burly finger in the girl's tearstained, dirt-ridden face. "I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut before I kill you."

The girl gave the guy a look that stopped Gaia in her tracks. She had seen that look before. It was the look of defiance that separated the dim-witted, bloodcurdling-scream-from-Jason-movie victims from the brave or either stupid ones. And from what Gaia could tell, she must be very brave.

Either that or dumber than a mug.

"You won't kill me!" she declared boldly. "You don't kill people in my family—they kill you!" With that she opened her mouth and clamped her pearly white teeth down on the man's awaiting finger. A sickening crunch followed and Gaia winced as the man screamed in pain.

"You little—" he growled and raised a hand to slap her around, face contorted with hate, anger, and bad-guy malice. 

Now it was on.

That seemed to be Gaia's cue to intervene. She leapt up from the park bench as if she had just found out it was quarantined for smallpox and rushed forward. The assailants looked up at Gaia, the "leader" regarding her with a smug look that just looked as if it would go really good with her rock hard fist. 

"Something you wanted, girlie?" The tone was patronizing. Such manly charm. And the use of the word 'girlie.' It almost made her want to go start a feminist rally and beat macho Neanderthals over the head with billy clubs. Almost. 

"Yeah," Gaia replied. "I wanted to tell you that this is my park. And I don't appreciate you knocking off little kids around here." 

"Your park huh? I don't see your name on it. Unless it's Washington Square." 

Gaia stepped forward, expression deadly serious. Gee. This one's a smart aleck. "Believe me, it's here. You just didn't look hard enough." 

He rolled his eyes. "Don't waste my time, girlie. Now get out of here and go back to your fingernail polish or whatever it is you teenagers do these days. I'm trying to conduct my business here." 

Gaia chuckled. "Well, I'm the boss. And any business that ain't my business better be my business or else." 

"Or else what?" Gaia didn't answer so he grabbed her shirt and pulled her forward. "Now you shut up and go on some where before you'll be thinking bullets." 

At this point, Gaia should have been quaking in fear. After all, this man, who looked like he had just stepped out of the ring with some WWF super beefcake, was about to throttle her and who knew what kind of artillery he had packed under that regulation black suit of his. But of course little Gaia was bereft of the fear gene so it didn't come. Big whoopee. Instead she leaned into his face, therefore surprising him and making him let her go. 

"Why don't you make me?" she hissed. 

With lightning quick speed, she lashed out with a kick that could have taken someone's head off. Her foot hit the man in his upraised hand and he growled-this time in frustration and pain once again. He spun toward Gaia ready to beat her up. Gaia, of course wasn't going to stand for that. She responded with a punch to the cheek, followed by a knee to the groin. 

He fell to the ground courtesy of Gaia's TKO. The two men holding Miss Crest Toothpaste 2002 went on alert, which meant that their grip on their captive was loosened for a moment. Gaia was about to unleash a combination of kicks and punches to subdue the men when the girl did something that almost made her lose her surprise-attack advantage.

The girl suddenly went into a fighting stance. She first kneed the captor on her right in the stomach. He doubled over in pain, looking as if he had a case of surprise appendicitis. She then turned to the left one and kicked him in the side with a final left-cross-right-hook-combo to his jaw for pain and suffering. Turning and seeing that the first one was recovering, she grabbed his hand, pulled it behind his back in an immobilizing half nelson, then bent it so hard that it broke like glass under her slender, dangerous fingers.

Gaia's eyes widened. Whoa. She just broke that man's wrist as if it were mere plastic. Just who was this girl anyway?

She finished them both off with a kick to their temples. They rolled over on their sides, down for the count like their so-called leader.

Gaia took a moment to comprehend all this. _Okay, here it is for the record. Young girl trapped by three guys. Fearless stranger runs up to save the day. Young girl gets free. Young girl beats captors like they stole something. Young girl kicks tree. _Gaia suddenly frowned now, staring at the dark-haired girl. _Young girl kicks tree?_

At the moment the former victim was kicking the stuffing out of a nearby tree, in house shoes no less. In gasping breaths she growled something that Gaia couldn't recognize. It took a moment for her to realize that she was speaking an eclectic mix of Japanese and Spanish. This girl just had to be crazy or something. After all, you just don't go kicking trees after you just opened up a major can of whoopass on some bad guys. It just wasn't in the rules of supergirl freaks. Now, a trash can maybe, but definitely not a tree. And in two languages! Gee, this one was a great find.

"Baka! Tu eres una baka!" She kicked at the tree again. "Baka! No tienes el disque y—"

"Um, excuse me," Gaia began. The girl paused. She turned slowly to face Gaia as if her brain suddenly resumed cerebral activity. "What, may I ask, are you doing?"

  


003>> 

  



	4. 003 Mindless Regis and Kelly Banter

  


**003 – Mindless _Regis and Kelly_ Banter.**

Josie was now convinced that something strange was going on. Not only was she stupidly kicking a tree that was much thicker and definitely older than she was but she was tearing up her foot in the process. As a voice spoke to her from behind, she hesitated. Her bloody house shoe fell to the ground and she turned around as if about to face a firing squad.

The girl was taller than she was, almost six feet. She stared down at Josie with curious blue eyes with blond hair that reminded her of those Loreal commercials. But this was no Kate Moss, or tall, skinny, untouchable, dainty fashion model, she could tell. If there was one thing her father taught her, it was that all appearances were sometimes deceiving.

And it also looked as if the girl had a father who told her this as well.

"You know," the girl said, seeing that Josie wasn't going to speak, "it would have been smarter to have been wearing real shoes if you were going to pummel the hell out of a tree."

Josie had to chuckle. She had to give the mysterious girl some credit for her wry sense of humor. After all, it had been a very amusing icebreaker. It was certainly more innovative than anything she could have come up with, especially when she had been running for her life the whole day without a crumb to eat. Her mind and body were running on empty. The needle was on E.

"Well, I left my real shoes with my real outfit at home," she joked back tiredly. She leaned down and picked up her WWII-battle wrecked looking shoe. "Unfortunately I can't keep a spare in my pocket. It'd weigh me down on my nightly Park run."

The girl raised an eyebrow, keeping up the mindless _Regis and Kelly_ banter that broke the silence of the dark night. "So I guess these guys are your bodyguards."

Josie walked forward lightly on her foot. She stopped two feet short of her tall savior and peered up into her face with innocent. "Actually, I was trained so that I wouldn't need bodyguards."

  


004>> 


	5. 004 Spinning Ice in a Scotch Glass

  


**004 Spinning Ice in a Scotch Glass.**

"Nate?" 

With the new voice, Nathaniel heard the door slam, shutting out the night and the cool air. He threw down the file folder that he had been holding and turned to the sound as the car moved forward into the quagmire of New York traffic. Now that they were safe and away, they could get down to the nitty-gritty.

"What's the word on the girl?" he asked.

His companion averted his gaze. She looked straight ahead as if looking at him would turn her into salt. If the news was as bad as he thought, it probably would be worse than that if she did look at him.

"The girl has somehow escaped," she replied with no emotion. 

Nathaniel groaned and resisted the urge to punch the window out next to him. _All of this planning and preparing…_ He sighed heavily and tried to remain calm. The last thing he needed to do was cause carnage by obliterating a window. That would really wreck the night.

"How did this happen?" he demanded evenly. It was a wonder he hadn't broken anything yet. Amid his frustration, he noticed that his question hadn't been answered. "Pandora?"

"She ran," was the stony reply. Pandora turned to him, her ice-blue eyes boring a whole through his control like an ice pick. "She got to the park and was rescued by a stranger." 

_A stranger._ The snake of uncertainty had reared its ugly head in his brain. There's no telling what would happen now. It was all turning awry like an episode of Jerry Springer. She would probably go to the police with her kidnapping story and his plans would be blown sky high.

"Nathaniel, do not worry." Nathaniel gazed at her as if she had lost all of her marbles. Maybe she had. It would explain the breach in his plans.

"What are you thinking, Pandora?"

Pandora reached over and pulled out a glass filled with ice. She poured a brown liquid into it and then handed it to him. A peace offering? He took it silently, still wondering what in the world she had up her sleeve. She was turning into a world-class schemer by the minute. _I must be rubbing off on her._

"The only thing we can do now is wait, doctor," she advised. She flicked off an imaginary speck of dust off of her dark Armani suit. "After all, immediate action would only hinder our plans."

Nathaniel nodded. He took a sip of his drink, the liquid flowing through him and calming his bruised nerves. He found he could think better when he wasn't on the verge of dementia. "You're right. We should wait a little bit before taking action."

The driver suddenly looked to him in the rearview. "Where to, Dr. Mitchell?"

Nathaniel set the glass down in a cupholder nearby. "Back to my place," he replied simply. "We need to re-organize our plans."

The driver nodded knowingly and drove in the appropriate direction. Nathaniel watched as the buildings passed them by in quick succession, one after another. Pandora patted his hand from beside him. Nathaniel looked to her and she gave him a single nod.

Nathaniel's eyes drifted back toward the file folder. All of his hopes and dreams rested on this one girl, the promise of her strength and agility. The pendulum was going to swing and hopefully it was going to be in the right direction—his direction. Things were going to turn out well, and he was going to make sure by any means necessary. If they didn't, his world would be turned upside down, going in no direction like spinning ice in a scotch glass.

  


josie>>

  



	6. 005 Josie

  


JOSIE

Where do I begin? I don't know of any good place to start. It's all too weird to fathom. One minute I'm running for my life from three guys and next thing I know I'm face to face with a girl that looks like one of those European supermodels with a black belt in all martial arts known to man.

It's one of those moments I wished I was six-one with a black belt myself. Or in other words, Mom.

But even more apparent than her physical dexterity is her guardedness. She seems to have a worldly air about things. And not only that but she looks smart. You know what I mean. The type of girl that just eats smart, breathes smart, embodies the word for god sakes! She is so perfect it's scary. Demi would probably love her. But then again, maybe she's not so perfect. Looks can be deceiving, remember? (Thanks, Dad.)

There has to be something up with her. I mean, she saved me without a second thought! You probably have to be practically fearless to do that. And walking through the park at night! She has to be fearless, if that's possible. Maybe she's hiding something. I guess I'm getting that curious feeling courtesy of genes from Mommy Dearest. She always has been kinda nosy.

I know one thing. This Gaia Moore—I owe her one.

  


  


gaia>> 


	7. 006 Gaia

  


GAIA

Okay, has the world gone nuts or is it just me? No, I'm convinced it's the world this time. Only the world would think of something this screwed up to fire at me when I'm at my all-time low for the moment.

So let me get this straight: my father has just been sold-out by his best friend to his evil brother and in succession I manage to rescue a girl who should have "I Love Trouble" tattooed on her forehead and loves to kick trees till her feet are mauled. Well, maybe she loves trouble but I'm the one that attracts it.

Could the night get any crazier? Oh wait, I forgot. In the here and now, you have to be accustomed to expect anything. I guess the three-ring circus comes next with the flying monkeys. That would top off the night just perfectly amid this mess called my life.

Now I suppose I have to figure out what to do with this rugrat. She's not annoying like I'd originally expected her to be. She's as quiet as a mouse—and also as stealthy as a panther. She probably thinks she's watching my back, which is sweet sort of. I can watch my own back, thank you.

But there is a question that is nagging me from the back of my brain ever since we left the park: where in the world did this girl come from? And even more important: Are they (whoever they are) after her for the same reason that they're after me?

  


  


do or die>> 

  



	8. 007 Dear Gaia

  


**007 Dear Gaia.**

"Where are we going now?"

Gaia stopped in her tracks on the sidewalk. Josie, who had been walking beside Gaia like a wounded puppy walking on three legs, limped to meet her some feet from where she herself had stopped. Gaia suddenly knew how it felt to be like an exasperated big sister and it was a feeling she didn't really like. 

"Just wherever my legs take me," she muttered. 

"Well…" Josie trailed off. Her deep blue eyes were peering at the ground below. Her right foot and torn clothing made her look pitiful. Gaia suddenly felt a trace of compassion for the young teen. After all, she had just been liberated from the clutches of three dangerous men with seemingly nowhere to go. At least she had somewhere to go, even if it was to Natasha's apartment on the East Side. This poor girl couldn't find her way out of a paper bag much less conquer New York City at night.

"Look, I'll take you back to my place," Gaia told her in a somewhat begrudging tone. Josie looked up, expression neutral. She nodded, not revealing a trace of emotion. _What's up with this kid? One moment she's hyper and in the next you'd swear she had a lethal dose of Ridalin._

"You live alone?" Josie asked.

Gaia began walking again, hands stuffed in pockets. She sidestepped a guy dressed in drag that must have been trying to get Marilyn Monroe but ended up channeling Anna Nicole Smith. "No. Do you?"

Josie followed, managing to keep up with Gaia's stride despite her limp. She glanced at the Anna dude with her eyebrows raised. "No. I live with my parents."

Gaia looked at her from under the hood of her sweatshirt. Bingo. Parental units. "Why aren't they with you? I mean, you live with them, right?"

Josie gazed back at Gaia. When she replied, her voice was low and heavy. "No. They're the reason why I'm running these streets alone. They were both captured in their bed this morning. I only managed to get away because my father has a mean head butt and my mother can kick like a bull."

It was at that moment that Gaia realized that the night had gone mad. First her own life goes through the shredder, now this kid's. What next? A _Dear Gaia_ column? It would be quite amusing to see what kind of junk she'd spout to solve someone else's problems.

"So you're on the run," Gaia stated, more for her own understanding than Josie's confirmation.

Josie nodded solemnly. "Yeah." She paused. "You know, Gaia, I can just find somewhere else to go. I mean, I don't want to get you into trouble anymore than you should be."

Gaia chuckled sardonically. It was such a nice gesture. "Kid, you have a lot to learn about me. I'm in a lot more trouble than you think I am."

"Trouble? What kind?"

Gaia fixed her with a serious look. "Trouble you can get killed for."

Josie seemed astonished. "How do you live?"

"I adapt. I have to or else I'd be somewhere I don't think I'd like very much."

Josie frowned thoughtfully. Suddenly she was staring straight ahead, looking as if she was knee-deep in memories she didn't want to pursue. Gaia knew the feeling. "Adapt," she repeated. "Do or die. Kill or be killed."

Gaia heard Josie's mutterings and frowned also. When she had first come across the teen, she had seemed innocent, an untouchable angel dressed in purified whiteness. Now her words were that of a girl who had been marred by the evil in the world, the purified whiteness turning into a sinister blackness. Well, not that extreme. Maybe more of gray color. But Gaia could relate. She had once thought the world could be good. Now she knew better.

"Your super parents tell you that?"

Josie thrust her hands into the pockets of her pullover. "Something like that."

  


008>> 

  



	9. 008 Death Trap

  


**008 Death Trap.**

  


It was pitch-black where he was. He didn't where this place was exactly but he was going to try to figure it out. He could smell the cleanliness in this dark, and the room even reeked of high society. The stench made him choke. _Damn poodle cologne. Well, I'm still in Greenwich Village, if that's any consolation._ He grimaced. It was a **_very_** small consolation.

He attempted to feel his way around the perimeter of the room but ended up ramming his knee into a chair. He swore under his breath and kept on walking. _Damn chair in the middle of the damn room. What's next? A coffee table? _He ignored the throbbing pain and kept on going. He had to find some kind of way out. He had been sitting there far too long and his butt was sore in the process. Not good. Not good at all.

By the time he had made it around, he had found nothing. But his knee had located another chair, a table, and even met the wall. Needless to say, his knee was not very happy right now. As a matter of fact, it was yelling four-letter words that would make a sailor wince. Holding his knee, he collapsed into the floor again.

"God," he muttered. "This room is a death trap."

Before he could move any farther, the wall slid open in a mysteriously unforseen place. As a matter of fact, this so called door hadn't even been felt by his exploring hands. He paused as a light flickered on and a tall figure emerged from the other side. He blinked furiously as the light hurt his eyes, wishing at that moment to be left in the dark. It would have suited his mood better. At that moment he became face to face with his captor, and he wasn't too happy about it. So to curb the urge he had to level his captor's head, he sat on the floor, elbows on knees, forehead on forearms.

"Hello Heero Yuy."

Heero didn't move a muscle. He didn't look at the man's face. The rush of rage that washed over him was so strong that it could have knocked out two mountains and Antarctica. In his own mental training over the last thirty years, he had learned that things were good in moderation. His best bet was to pummel him when the first chance came, but it hadn't shown itself yet.

"Where is my daughter?" he asked abruptly.

The tone of the man seemed to change. As if he sensed the dangerous intent lurking behind those four words, he became a lot less Dr. Evil and became more Number Two—explanatory and sickeningly neutral. The blunt routine seemed to work. But hey—it beat not knowing where the heck his daughter was. At least he'd start getting some answers.

"Your daughter managed to escape from our men, Mr. Yuy," the man explained. Heero suppressed the miniscule feeling of hope that had cultivated after that statement. All that damned training, as strenuous as it was, had gone to some good use. But Heero frowned then. Free might be one thing, but was she alive? After all, it was New York City, a place she hadn't been before in her life.

But her mother had.

Heero looked up this time, wanting to see the man's face as he answered. "So if she's escaped, where is my wife?" he demanded.

The man's face suddenly switched again. Heero felt that same sensation of falling into the depths of hell that had nearly sent him going nuts after these situations in which rich scientists and those of the same mold came after him and his prodigy daughter. For a moment, he could imagine Hell with the horned devil looming over him, reminding him of all his sins…

"The car that she was being transported in never made it here," the man answered, breaking through Heero's demonic thoughts.

Whoa. That rush of rage suddenly became a waterfall of hurt and pain. Okay, worse-case scenario. The car crashed and Danie was dead. Heero played with the thought for a moment, the blood draining from his already pale face. _Danie…_ The mere notion that she could be dead sent a quiver through him. They had spent so much of their lives together… She was his humanity and him her lifelong love… He would have rather have lost a body part. At least Danie would be there to take care of him.

But then again… Danie wasn't the type to just roll over and die. She had shown her determination over the years, even risking her health after a car accident to come after the people who were trying to harm their daughter. She was like a cat. She avoided danger at every turn, gave it a nyah-nyah-you-can't-get-me sort of hair toss, and went on her way. It was one of her strong points, aside from her penchant for making him nuts over her.

"I wouldn't count neither my daughter out or my wife," Heero said suddenly, feeling relieved to hear the words aloud. "In a way, they have part of me with them. And I'm not the type who dies easily." In other words, I could kill you. Forget could. I'm gonna kill you.

"That's the kind of thing I like to hear," the man said, eyes glinting with that same malice that he had walked in with. "But you do realize that if you try anything, we can just exterminate your son."

  


009>> 

  



	10. 009 Innocent Blood

  
****

009 Innocent Blood.

  


__

Okay, so this how teenage social rejects spend Friday nights, Ed Fargo mused as he sat down in front of his TV, getting ready for a rousing marathon of mindless action movies. _These channels must custom-make these stupid traps for guys like me—lonely with screwed up lives. It's the epitome of total and complete humiliation. It's up there with getting your pants ripped off in front of the girl of your dreams and mistaking Star Trek with Star Wars_. Ed shuddered. It was enough to send one to a shrink or gut-first into a stainless steel butcher knife.

Ed sighed and flicked the channel. He suddenly wasn't in the mood to watch Jean-Claude Van Damme kick some bad-guy ass. _Gee, what could be more dismal than this? All the cool movies and TV shows are on, but there's nothing to watch. Picky, picky._ With another flick of his wrist, he discarded the remote, shutting the TV off in the process. There was no use. TV was hell.

Before Ed could sink into the abyss he called his stream of thought, a strange sound came from the open window in the room. Frowning, he slowly got to his feet, forgetting that he didn't have his crutches and limped to the window.

Down below him outside, there was a clamor. 

A little kid, a kid that would be no bigger than an elementary school student, was beating the crap out of two masked men David-and-Goliath style. It was so riveting that Ed found some morbid, twisted fascination in it.

__

Man, this sure beats Van Damme.

Before Ed could do a mental macho cheer to help the kid on (somewhat), he disappeared…into Ed's apartment building, a quick blur of dark clothes and hair. His assailants clumped behind him, but then soon realized that the little kid had outrun them with his little I-think-I-can legs.

__

Hey how'd he do that?

Ed shrugged. He sighed and tried to forget it all. Besides, his life was riveting enough, with its ups and downs like a season finale episode of Dawson's Creek.

Of course, the incessant, we're-the-police-open-up-the-damn-door banging on his front door wasn't helping much. As a matter of fact, with each pound his heart followed, thudding in his chest. In a strange way he felt repentant, as if watching those goons take a beating from a kid warranted him a just beating himself.

But hey, he wasn't a part of this. He had nothing to do with this messed up kidnapping, or whatever. He'd answer the door and get on with his life, denying that he had any involvement with Superkid. It would make everything so much easier.

So he slid the chain into its groove in the door and opened the door so slowly that it creaked. In the tiny sliver of space he allowed for him and his new guest (using that term loosely) he saw two men, both wearing black clothes that were designed to blend in with the sometimes outlandish and colorful masses.

"Um, good evening," Ed croaked. "Something you guys need?"

The first one spoke in a voice that reminded him of your run-of-the-mill, TV-fabricated thug. He even smelled of smoke, alcohol, and innocent blood. Ed was not surprised. He gave up being surprised on these things long ago. It was like opening a bag of your favorite Cool Ranch Doritos and finding only six chips inside, or reading a story on Jennifer Lopez and finding out she was engaged again. Not a big whoopdee-do. "We want to know if you've seen a little kid running around here. He's about five years old."

Ed shook his head vigorously. "No…I haven't seen a kid around here that I don't know."

There was a pause. Ed, with his acute monocular vision, peered from one man to the next through the small crack. The statement seemed to be dawning on them, bit by bit. Aw look…the first one raised an eyebrow. No…the second one nodded. Wait…the first one shook his head. Hold it…they were turning to leave! Bingo! They believed it! 

"Thanks for your time." With that, they stomped away from his door. Nothing more. Not even a see-you-later or an I'll-kick-your-ass-if-I-see-it-again. Ed closed the door, bolting it as if he was some panicky kid from Home Alone. Well, if he was that he'd at least have a few tricks up his sleeve.

Like the kid that was crouched in the corner of his living room, staring at him with innocent blue eyes.

  


ed>> 

  



	11. 010 Ed

  


  


ED

Alright what's going on here?

I'm used to the craziness that often comes with being a friend of the resident Supergirl, Gaia Moore. As a matter of fact, I think it had almost become ingrained in my system. I knew from the first moment I knew her—okay, not the very FIRST moment, but somewhere in there—that she had some untouchable tragedy following her around. But this is all that my ex-skater rat self can take. Especially after all the soap-operish farce that has been becoming my life.

But this little kid, he's cool. After the initial shock-more like heart failure-I found him to be pretty much your normal five-year-old kid. He seems to be happy with the TV screen in front of him, idly asking me questions like, "What's a beer bong?" and "Does everyone do stuff like that?" He looks very innocent, like a kid that would put on his Spiderman pajamas and ask to be read Harry Potter over and over again. 

Pretty normal, huh?

But then he pulls out a pad and paper and reassures my theory that there's something in the water. Kids these days are really smart...or something. I think I might go with 'or something.' I guess the internet works wonders. But then he tells me that his mom taught him all this stuff. A mom that seems normal enough to have her own TV show, which I surmised...until he tells me that she's six-one, forty-five years old, and has a black belt.

A supermodel, perhaps. He affirms this after mentioning a few magazines that guys drool over while pausing at the magazine stand. Gosh, he's lucky, with a supermodel for a mom. I imagine his father is the luckiest of all. It would be every hot-blooded American male's dream, a supermodel for a wife. But he says that his mommy likes things to be normal for them. Perhaps they have this apple-pie existence with a checkered table cloth and pot roast every night. It's the American Family Barbie, Ken, Skipper, and (what's the little boy's name again?) set, dog Spot and cat Mittens not included. 

But why do have this feeling that looks are deceiving?

  


jason>> 

  



	12. 011

  


JASON

Every one thinks that I cannot read or write very well yet. Mommy and Daddy know—but they don't tell people. They say they like the shock of knowing that their son can do better than their stuck-up rich kids. I nod because whatever Mommy and Daddy say is right. But they said that we will be all right. Are they right?

I miss Josie. I know she picks on me and stuff, but she's a cool big sis. She taught me stuff that Daddy taught her. She says I am going to have to protect myself. I will be a hot commodity—whatever that means. Why? I ask. Because you're the son of Heero Yuy…and Heero Yuy is dangerous.

Daddy is dangerous? Well, if he is, then why is he my daddy?

Mommy made me learn my full name when I was two. Jason Edward Yuy, she said over and over. Repeat, sweetie. Repeat after me. Write it down sweetie. Now use your left hand. And then hers. Daniella Elizabeth Yuy. And then Josie's. Josephine Midori Yuy. I remember having them written by age three—chicken scratch. My handwriting has refined so much, as Mommy says. She's proud of me, her little baby son. Her little soldier. Her eyes, the color of the purple crayon, lights up when she says that. My eyes are the color of the blue one—somewhat but not really.

Then Daddy breaks in and says that I shall never be a soldier—no one in his family will ever have to fight again.

So why does Josie teach me how to fight? For fun? Or because I will have to fight even though Daddy said I wouldn't?

I am confused. Maybe Ed knows why. He seems to know everything else.

  


012>> 

  



	13. 012 Teenage Hierarchy

  


**012 Teenage Hierarchy.**

The clock was ticking and it was getting alarmingly nearer to midnight. 

Tatiana Petrova suddenly knew the full meaning of that old saying. You know. A watched clock never ticks. Her meticulous gaze watched every infinite movement of the second hand as it journeyed across the clock in its continual clockwise procession. And it seemed to be moving too slow for her liking. She almost wanted to murder the clock.

Okay. So Gaia is late. No surprise there. But it seemed that with all the upheaval, she'd at least be in at a decent hour…but then again, it was Gaia Moore. The Queen of Dysfunction, the High Priestess of the Krispy Kreme Donut. Just when you thought you got it down pat, she went and surprised you. She was a talking, walking, breathing ambush/paradox, sans instruction book. 

Tatiana's fingers drummed on the couch arm impatiently. She felt like an overblown balloon, tediously being filled to capacity with air. Without a release, she would explode into a million Tatiana pieces. This was ridiculous. This girl was going to be late to her own funeral at this rate. 

Thinking about death almost deflated Tatiana. The ultimate end to life. How could she think of something so horrible? Death, when the world was so filled with killers, muggers, and thousand-dollar-drug dealers?

Tatiana stood, face drawn into a determined mask. She had to do something—**_something_**—to keep her from freaking out. She didn't want to turn all _Girl, Interrupted_ once Gaia finally decided to return. Maybe some Britney Spears would take the edge off of her worry.

Before she could even reach out for her _Oops! I Did It Again _enhanced CD, there was a click. The click inspired a glimmer of hope to surge through her. Then fear. _It could be an intruder, you idiot!!_

But then again, did intruders have long extra-silky (okay, _sometimes_, on a _really good_ day) hair, cargo pants, and hands capable of breaking you in a million different places? Well, Tatiana hoped not, because then they would all look like Gaia.

The held-up air whooshed out of Tatiana, leaving indignant anger inside of her.

"How could you have me worry like this?!" Tatiana demanded, the picture of a primetime soap prima donna with not enough figures on her bankroll. Gaia paused momentarily, not knowing whether to be afraid or super annoyed. Well, she couldn't be afraid, so she settled for annoyed instead.

"Tatiana," she muttered, "chill. I'm home."

Tatiana let out a long, exasperated, I-can't-believe-she's-acting-so-blasé sigh and plopped down onto the couch. She held her head in her hands, a major tension headache threatening to take over her sanity, when Gaia spoke…

"Hey, you hungry?"

…But it wasn't to Tatiana…

"We've got all kinds of food."

…So who was it? 

Tatiana raised her head…and found herself face-to-face with a girl with large blue eyes. She was kind of tall for her age, and her eyes had some kind of hard-knock life sort of maturity to them. The sight startled her more than the _Showgirls_ movie, and she jumped to her feet, therefore startling the girl onto her butt on the carpet.

"You!" Tatiana shrieked. If she had a chair to stand on top of and a broom, she would have reminded the girl of the time when her pet mouse had gotten loose in the house and her mother found it. But now she was more focused on the fact that this dainty blonde was glaring at her like she shot J.R. _and_ the deputy.

Gaia drifted back into the living room then, wondering what Tatiana was yelling about. It was kind of amusing seeing Tatiana playing her role as high-strung Queen Bee in the teenage hierarchy. And poor Josie was stuck being the geek peon, only there to make sure Queen Tee got her bottled water from Aquafina and not Dasani. Gaia sighed and decided to rectify the situation before a catfight ensued. That was just what she needed to end the night. A Jerry Springer-knock-down, drag-out fight.

"Tatiana, Josie. Josie, Tatiana."

Josie stood. She brushed some imaginary specks of dust off of her already grubby pajamas and held out her hand to Tatiana. Gaia guessed that her parents taught her the importance of politeness. Either that or she was a charm school dropout. But whatever the case, Tatiana shook it in quasi-apology, face contrite like a kid that had just spilled chocolate all over her parents' landlord.

"Sorry," Tatiana said to Josie. "I got a little freaked in there."

Josie frowned. "Um, don't you mean, freaked out?"

Tatiana paused. Then she smiled and nodded. "Um yes…that is what I meant."

Gaia turned away from the scene and decided to get something to eat. Josie and Tatiana would be alright on their own. When Gaia re-entered the room with some powdered sugar donuts, Josie was crying and Tatiana was consoling her like a Russian version of Sally Jessy Raphael. Josie looked up and saw Gaia, wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I was just thinking about home and stuff. You know how it is. I got homesick."

Gaia nodded, and Tatiana too. Gaia knew the waves of hollowness and despondency that Josie was feeling. She felt it every time the thought of her mother surfaced, with her beauty and warmth. She plopped down in a chair, the heaviness back. 

"What was your home like?" Tatiana asked.

Josie sighed. "It was a crazy, fun-filled place," she admitted. "It could go from calm to crazy in sixty seconds. People would be in and out. Mom was—I mean, is a very popular person…she had friends over all the time." She smiled, a memory springing to mind. "My favorite was Uncle Tom."

Gaia gave a start at the sound of her father's name. _Uncle Tom?! No…it can't be… _"Uncle Tom?" she croaked.

"Yeah…you know, um…he was in that movie…um…with, um…that girl from _Charlie's Angels_—"

Gaia breathed easier as Tatiana tried to think of the identity of Josie's "Uncle Tom." "Um…you mean that movie…what was it called again? _Chocolate Sky_?"

__

"Vanilla Sky," Josie corrected.

Tatiana's face lit up in recognition as if a lightbulb had just gone bright in her head. "Oh yes…the boys of Russia like his movies…especially the one where he dances around…um, _Frisky Business_?"

Gaia couldn't help letting out a snicker. It was so funny hearing Tatiana rattle off some movie that was probably a hit in porn downloads on the Internet than a box-office smash. 

"Um, _Risky Business_, Tatiana," Josie supplied, trying to contain her laughter. She shook her head and gestured to the powdery donuts sitting in Gaia's lap. Gaia offered her one and Josie ate it whole. It startled Tatiana to see her new guest have such a skill at gluttony. Gaia suddenly felt like she could get along with the girl. Downing the powdery confection with no manners whatsoever placed Josie in a good light in Gaia's book.

"So…Josie…" Josie raised an eyebrow at the Russian teen, wondering what her careful attempts at a conversation were going. "Um, why are you in pajamas?"

  


013>> 

  



	14. 013 Tragic Little Voice

  


****

013 Tragic Little Voice.

Josie's face drew up in a serious mask. Gaia shared a glance with Tatiana, intrigued. It suddenly got dramatic in the room. Gaia could tell that Josie had quite a story. Maybe if she wrote it down, Steven Spielburg could make the movie version.

"Well," she began in a tragic little voice, "it all began two weeks ago. I had been walking home from school when I saw that I was being followed."

Gaia shook her head in disbelief. She knew all too well of the feeling. Being pursued by dogs after a juicy bone was not her idea of fun. Beating them up? Well, that was another thing altogether…

"Who was following you?" Tatiana inquired, looking the picture of a police detective. 

Josie shook her head, trying to recall. "I don't know. But it kept happening. Finally my dad drove me to school and back home. He wasn't too happy about it. But when it started happening to Jason, he became majorly pissed off. He knew that as soon as they caught one of us, they'd start running tests and experiments and turn one of us…into what he used to be.

"Mom tried to calm him down as she usually does, but it didn't work this time. Dad found out that our phones were tapped. Private conversations he had with my mother were being sent to him by e-mail as a warning. They told him that he'd better get ready to make a choice. He got madder and madder—until finally he couldn't take it anymore. As soon as we could, he said we had to get away from Gracia. So we made plans to make it look like an emergency had occurred and we had to come here.

"Anyway, we were safe until yesterday morning. When I woke up, people were in the house. We were staying at a friend's place—a friend of Mom's. They were yelling and telling Mom and Dad that if they didn't hand us—Jason and me—over, they'd kill them. I saw my mother shoot two of them before she told me to run. Jason wouldn't until Dad told him to go. We ran in opposite directions. I tried to keep up with him, but he disappeared."

The tale she was spinning out was something straight out of a suspense movie. It sounded like a story some crazy mad scientist turned movie director would turn into a horrid screenplay. Gaia almost didn't believe it—that is, until she pulled the disk from her pocket.

Tatiana's eyes widened as if Ed McMahon had just presented her a check for one million dollars. Gaia couldn't help it either. She was not only curious, but pissed off and outraged. She half-wondered if Loki was behind all this calamity. After all…look what he did to her. Had he gotten impatient that hie pet project wasn't co-operating and had decided to find someone else?

Knowing Loki, she wouldn't be half-surprised.

"What is on the disk?" Tatiana wanted to know.

Josie put down the disk and looked to her, expression deadly serious. "Their plans for me and Jason."

josie>> 

  



	15. 014 Josie

  


JOSIE

One time when I was eight, I started hearing voices. Okay, it sounds like something a schizophrenic would complain of, but it wasn't really that. It was something more, like fate whispering in my ear. I found myself punching a bag full of rocks, looking a shrunken female version of my father as a teenager. My father came outside and freaked out. He told me to never ever do that again. I promised.

Then I was kidnapped. Tests were run on me that would make anyone's skin crawl. I can never forget the tactics they used…the electric shock…the physical beatings… They wanted to figure out if the spawn of Heero Yuy had inherited Heero Yuy's skills and well as his DNA.

Well, she had. 

And it wasn't pretty. Out of me they tried to create another Perfect Soldier.

My father went nuts trying to make himself forget, make me forget. Mom told me that he nearly had a breakdown when I had to go off for training with Tristian. He didn't like what he saw happening to his little daughter. Soon after that, Mom was pregnant with Jason. And she didn't like that her lovely life was being shredded to pieces by a scientist who wanted to take over the world. So what else is new.

Ever since then, my parents have tried to give me a normal life. It seemed to work…up until now.

  


  


phone home>> 

  



	16. 015 Guileless

****

015 Guileless.

Ed was having quite a lovely dream.

In his lovely dream he could walk. Not limp like some immobile freak, but walk like a normal human being. He glided. He jaywalked. He skipped and skated and pranced. It was a nice feeling. He felt like he was in a current remake of the _Sound of Music_. He was King of the World!

He approached a group of beautiful ladies that all looked like silicone-injected Playboy bunnies—but he didn't mind one bit. Though, something puzzled him. One had Heather Gannis's face! Another had a Tatiana head. But to his immense surprise—and pleasure—the one in the middle looked like none other than Gaia Moore.

Then he crashed straight into reality—and woke up.

Someone was calling his name. For a moment, he had thought that the buoyant delirium that attacked him in his dream had followed him to consciousness. There was no way that there was someone was calling him… His parents were out. His older sister had gone off into the swarm of educated fashion slaves. So who was it?

"Ed! Ed, wake up! It's eight o'clock!"

Oh yeah. He'd forgotten about his little intruder that had spent most of the night instituting the Spanish Inquisition.

Opening one eye, Ed found five-year-old Jason Yuy frowning at him as if someone his age still sleeping at eight o'clock in the morning was something to be disconcerted about. There was something about his stare, however, that differed from the usual curious wide-eyed kid stare. It was almost as if he was memorizing his every movement, like a relative that was about to croak. It didn't make Ed feel any better, given the circumstances. After all, it was entirely possible that Ed could be killed just for harboring this innocuous-looking kid. That didn't make him feel any better either.

Man, it was just all too early in the morning for all this.

"Hold on a minute," Ed muttered, trying to gain some sense of what the heck he was doing. Oh yeah. He was about to get out of bed. He rolled over and placed his feet flat on the floor. Meanwhile, Jason peered at him. Ed, despite his foggy brain, found the appraisal disconcerting. After grabbing his crutches, he turned to Jason.

"Are you alright?" Ed inquired.

Jason gave him an oddly thoughtful stare that Ed did not expect. As a matter of fact, he had almost expected for the small boy to be rambling on about how much he missed his mother and wanted to go home to his PlayStation II. Instead, though, he leaped off of the bed like the superhuman kid he seemed to be and took Ed's crutches from him.

Ed blinked. He felt like someone had slapped him in the face with a plastic placemat. He remained rooted in place as Jason leaned his two assistants up against the wall. The gesture was bizarrely parent-like, as if the crutches were something illegal, not permitted for use.

__

Okay…what the hell is going on here?

Holding back exasperation, Ed limped to Jason. "Jason…why did you take my crutches?" he asked patiently. Now he knew why people complained about kid brothers and sisters.

Jason gave him another thoughtful stare. "Because," he responded with a Dennis-the-Menace type innocence that could not be trusted.

**__**

Because! "Okay. Um…you mind elaborating?"

It was then that Jason surprised Ed by taking his hand and leading him out of the bedroom. Perhaps stunned by the kid's tenacity and thoughtfulness, Ed remained silent.

"My mommy said that sometimes you have to deal with the pain," he told Ed, who was still in a foggy-brained, bothered stupefaction. "You can walk without your crutches, I know you can. You have to be like the little engine that could."

Leave it to a five-year-old to bring up a hackneyed character from a book that way below Ed's reading comprehension. But Ed then understood, and he felt a little bit of endearment for the young boy. Jason wasn't trying to be annoying; he was trying to help Ed to embrace his destiny like some kind of child omnipotent being…or something like that.

Of course, that feeling turned into astonishment once he had gotten into the kitchen.

The kitchen was Pine Sol clean. It had a strange dirt-free smell that reminded Ed of the Mr. Clean commercials. Even more astonishing was the stack of French toast sitting on the counter and a plate of incredible, edible eggs steaming in a bowl beside them. Ed suddenly felt like he had stepped into a strange world in which fairies existed—Breakfast Fairy, Mop-and-Shine Fairy, Cascade Fairy—you name it, Johnson and Johnson probably could market it.

"Um, you did this?" Ed croaked.

Jason nodded and grinned, a-can-I-get-a-gold-star kind of smile that only a little kid could pull off. Ed couldn't help ruffling his hair as if they were in some perfect sitcom show-existence and going to help himself to breakfast. It was…sweet. A kind gesture. A guileless gesture.

"Daddy taught me how to cook so I could help Mommy in the kitchen," Jason prattled, heaping syrup on his ration as if it were going out of style. "And I help Josie when it's her turn to do the dishes."

Ed frowned at the little comment. It was a pretty normal thing to say, an explanation for this seemingly unattainable splendor that he achieved. But there was a note of longing in his voice—something he couldn't ignore. He knew he was going to turn all Maury Povich on poor Jason—but it had to be done. It was his duty…or something like that.

"Look, Jason, did you run away from home?"

Jason looked at him with horrified blue eyes that demonstrated that Ed was very very far away from the truth. Okay. That looks like a no.

"Well then, what happened?"

"I did run away…sort of," Jason mumbled reluctantly. Ed kind of felt like he was asking Jason to play with Ballet Dancer Barbie or to kiss a girl or something that a five-year-old boy would find disgusting. But he pushed thoughts aside and concentrated on trying to decipher what happened.

"Sort of?" Ed prodded gently. Seeing that Jason was still reluctant, Ed gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as if he was a buddy that shared beer and a good football game with him. "Come on, Jason. You can tell your ol' buddy Ed anything."

The expression on Jason's face turned stonily serious. "Ed…I don't think you should hear this."

Something in his tone reminded him of Gaia. It screamed, _Stay back, don't prod you idiot! I'm doing this for your own good!_ Stillness hung in between them like a heavy cloth, and Ed could not speak.

He had a feeling…this was about to get complicated.


	17. 016 Guarded

****

016 Guarded.

Meanwhile, on the Upper East Side, Gaia too awoke to breakfast already laid out for her.

For a moment, Gaia thought that she had died and gone to heaven. She stumbled into the kitchen, ready for her ritual breakfast of Froot Loops when the rich, fragrant aroma of French toast assaulted her senses like a scent too long forgotten. Her stomach grumbled like a lion in a cage, ready to be let loose upon the ideal breakfast before her.

At that moment, Josie turned, looking like a cross between Jennifer Love Hewitt and Julia Child. She flashed Gaia a sunshiney smile, adding to her almost annoyingly perfect perky appearance. Gaia almost expected her to break into some bounce that the FOH's would have scored a ten, but instead she stood blinking a moment, then her smile faded like a carefully applied mask. Gaia was relieved. She didn't want to get sick before eating—and, well, not afterwards, either.

"Man, I hate when my mom does that in the morning," Josie grumbled, cleaning the pots and pans as Gaia prepared her plate. "She's so perky." Josie shook her head. "I wonder how she does it."

Gaia shrugged and gave an inattentive grunt, concentrating on the food before her. Josie would have to learn that nothing should get in between Gaia Moore and fabulously prepared food.

"Maybe it's the sex in the morning," Josie rambled on.

Gaia suddenly choked on a large mouthful of toast. She recovered from shock quickly and gulped down some milk. Josie looked at her innocently, as if there was nothing strange in what she said.

"Was it something I said?" Josie asked.

Gaia raised an eyebrow. "Okay, what was up with that comment? Don't tell me—your parents can't keep their hands off of each other."

Josie groaned and picked at the steaming eggs on her own plate, having finished with tidying up like a deranged housewife. "You have no idea. I swear, I don't know how two people could have that much stamina. I mean, I'd get a little tired after a while and I have pretty good endurance—"

"Could we please change the subject?" Gaia broke in, not wanting a full report of Josie's parents' sex life. It seemed, like everything else about them, abnormal. Josie was right on one thing—but she wasn't going to entertain the thought. Even though she loved her deceased mother and nomadic father, it was still a bit outlandish to imagine them doing it like they were on the Discovery Channel. Ew. Gross.

"Sorry," Josie murmured, blushing. She forked a piece of French toast and looked at Gaia with that oh-so-lovely conversational look. "So how about your parents?"

Gaia paused. Whoa…she was straight pulling that-I-told-you-my-story-now-tell-me-yours crap and she didn't even see it coming. Josie's eyes searched hers for a moment. Gaia's eyes, around the same color incidentally, glared back, showing Gaia's obvious discomfort in revealing her parentage. The moment stretched out like hours until finally Josie sighed and looked away. Gaia prepared to continue eating.

"I'm sorry."

Whoa. Gaia paused in mid-shovel, not expecting the thirteen-year-old to sound so contrite. She almost felt some remorse in being guarded. But it couldn't be helped. At least Josie saw that before she got a good swift kick in the ass.

"Don't be," Gaia found herself saying. "It's a popular question."

"Do you answer it?"

Gaia's gaze fell back to the circular dish and the food on it below her head. "Only if I can trust the person."

In the silence that followed, Gaia could hear Tatiana coming out of the room and yawning, muttering in Russian about the state Gaia's bed was in. She finished the last of her sausage and eggs and peered at Josie, an unreadable expression on her face. And of course it was on purpose. Because Gaia knew the question that was about to follow.

"Well…do you trust me?"

017>> 


	18. 017 Pout and Silent Treatment

****

017 Pout and Silent Treatment.

Of course, Gaia wasn't sure how to answer the question.

The truth was, Josie was no more than another passing annoyance in her already meaningless life. Trusting her would prove not only to be meaningless but quite uncharacteristic on Gaia's part. After all, she wasn't the type to just up and give her trust to every person she saved on the street. If that happened, then Loki would have had her in his clutches by now. And Gaia wasn't about to precipitate that turn of events.

"Look, don't take this personally—" Gaia began.

Josie waved off the explanation. "Don't bother. I get it. I wouldn't trust me either." Sighing, she took Gaia's plate and her own and walked to the sink as Tatiana drifted in wearing her flimsy bedgown and perfectly coifed Hollywood hair. She said something about the food before and started to eat. Meanwhile, Josie stood at the sink, sunk in a some kind of stony silence.

Oh geez. Had Gaia offended her? Gaia couldn't believe that a girl like Josie would even resort to the childish—and sometimes effective—pout and silent treatment. For sure Josie would at least argue, Gaia figured. But then again, she probably knew what would happen if she did.

"Hey Josie, you don't have to worry about the dishes, you know," Tatiana commented, breaking the silence. "You're the guest, no? And guests don't have to wash dishes."

Josie obeyed Tatiana's subtle order to stop playing Alice from the Brady Bunch and silently left the room. She left a deafening silence in her wake. Gaia blinked, nonplussed.

"Is there something wrong with her?" Tatiana asked Gaia.

Gaia shrugged, not wanting to add to the histrionics of Josie's silent tantrum. "She's probably homesick."

Tatiana gazed at her. "Perhaps we should help her find her parents, no?"

Gaia felt a strange déjà vu wash over her. Either someone was playing a cruel joke on her or this was real. This thirteen-year-old girl that came seemingly out of nowhere was just like her. She had been slighted of a world filled with comfort and reassurance. She could kick butt like nobody's business. But there was one huge difference. She wasn't fearless. And she was going to need help…from Gaia.

With that thought, Gaia rose, knowing what she had to do. It was her duty as a super-heroine to help girls in need, blah, blah, blah. Besides, it would probably be best that way since Gaia had her own problems to contend with. She couldn't really make her next move with Miss Trouble 2002 in the way.

Gaia heard the sound of fingers against keys as she walked toward her and Tatiana's bedroom. She didn't fail to notice that Josie had put away all indications of her sleeping on the couch last night and made the room all Manhattan chic and spotless again. She shook her head in disbelief. This girl was weird.

Josie didn't look up when Gaia entered. She was totally engrossed in the screen in front of her, as if trying to memorize every word, every letter. Gaia walked up behind her and crossed her arms.

"What are you doing?" she asked, although it was pretty clear.

"I'm emailing my trainer," Josie murmured, fingers moving at the speed of light over the keyboard.

Gaia raised an eyebrow. Now she was really confused. One moment, Josie seemed to be a girl living a real-life _Dark Angel_ nightmare…the next, she became this _Beverly Hills, 90210_ climber complete with prudish tendencies—and a trainer. A _trainer_ for goodness sakes! God, Gaia was getting a headache. She was never going to figure this one out.

"It's not what you think," Josie said aloud as if having the mystical power of reading Gaia's thoughts. "He trained me to be…this way."

Gee that was comforting. But hey, at least now there could be some familiar contact and Josie could whoosh right out of Gaia's life. Yes, things are back to normal for Gaia Moore.

But Gaia's eyes couldn't help watching the screen. Three words jumped out at her like an asinine squad of thugs who were aiming to get their asses kicked.

__

Josie… Phone home…

Phone home. So Steven Spielburg. Gaia's mouth tightened and she grabbed Josie's shoulder. The clicking stopped.

"I want to talk to him," Gaia remarked.

Josie looked at her a moment as if the light bulb in her brain had blown out. "Huh?"

There was no use in being nice. "Get up. Let me e-mail this guy."

Josie sighed and got out of the chair. Gaia sat down and logged into her e-mail account, ignoring Josie's dazed stare of cluelessness. She memorized his e-mail address from a window she closed out of, and then typed it into the "to" field. She paused a moment, trying to find the right words to convey her utter helplessness and confusion. Then she wrote.

To:   
From: Subject: The Girl

Dear Tristian Harper,

My name is Gaia Moore, and I have something that

you might want. No, no—I'm not asking for ransom money

or something like that. The thing is, I've found your,

um, I guess your trainee. To be honest, I don't know

what's going on here, and I think I don't want to.

But I need to know what to do about Josie and exactly

how to get her to you without trouble.

Then Gaia sent the e-mail, hoping that this Tristian Harper wasn't being threatened with a knife to his throat or something. That would really make things messy.

Suddenly, an alert popped on the screen: she had one new message in her inbox.

"It's him," Josie said unnecessarily. Gaia ignored her and clicked on the icon for her inbox. Hm. Tristian had replied. He holla'd back. Well. At least something was going right. She flexed her fingers and got ready for a long e-mail correspondence.

018>> 


	19. EMail

To: From: Subject: 9-14-18-8-5

Gaia,  
I know it's been a long three days. We're  
Still trying to figure out the code we've got here.  
I know you're kinda antsy with a thirteen-year-old  
Kid to worry about but don't. She's a good kid.  
Besides, I know she can deliver a good kicking when  
she wants to. Tell her that her mother and father  
are alive—for now.

Until we meet. 

Tristian Harper

To:   
From: Subject: Re: 9-14-18-8-5

Tristian,  
I've got her under control so don't worry  
about me. As for this code thing… What's it all  
about? Is there something you're not telling me?  
This kinda feels like a bad episode of the  
X-Files.

Gaia

To: From: Subject: Re: 9-14-18-8-5

Gaia,

There are a lot of things I cannot tell you. At least not through this, not through e-mail. Look,  
Abby, Helen, and I will be flying out there in a day  
or two. We've got to call her aunt who is a habitual  
computer specialist to help us figure this out since  
Heero isn't here. I'll give you a call when we're  
landing in LaGuardia.

Tristian

018>> 


	20. 018 Wishful Thinking

**018 Wishful Thinking.**

It was morning.

The world was gray. Actually it wasn't really, though it seemed that way before she had rubbed the sleep from her eyes. But the weariness in her body and the despondency in her heart kept the world its drab, dull color. There would be no color for her until her peace and home were restored.

She stood up and a pain shot through her that she knew no medicine would cure. She leaned on the wall for support and gingerly inched her way toward the street. It took her a moment to realize that she had been there for several days, maybe even a week, in a state of unconsciousness. Perhaps Armageddon had occurred, wiping her assailants away to hell. It was wishful thinking, though.

She pressed a palm to her forehead. When she brought her hand to her face, her eyes were startled by the sight of blood. Frantically she felt on her forehead for broken skin, running careful fingers through her seedy raven mane. After a moment she realized…

__

The blood isn't mine.

The line had her bewildered. How could blood from someone else end up on her forehead? This made no sense—

Then she bumped into it. At first she though it was a trash bag lying around. It was an alley after all. No one was going to march up with a trash bag like some militant tree-hugger from the EPA. But then she glanced down…

__

Oh my God. She almost gagged at the prone body, dissolved of all life. If she had any food in her stomach, it would have mingled with the blood staining the pavement. Suddenly she remembered what happened…

__

I fought this man. He was going to kill me, at the orders of his boss. A moment of insight caused her musing to pause. _And then, I was on the ground… The world went black… Then the gunshot—_

The gunshot. Some one must have killed this man that was going to kill her. Still puzzled she wandered toward the street, the signs of civilization giving her hope. She felt her body, and her silk pajamas were as good as ruined. But she didn't care about that now. What she needed was something to eat and a change of clothes, then perhaps she could find her family—and seek vengeance. Venganza…a very important creed in her family, in her blood. Now it was time to seek the blood of the people responsible for this.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk was a shock to her. Seeing people milling around her in their clouds of haste and apathy seemed foreign, like a cherry in a martini. She desperately craved something to drink or to even to eat; her mouth watered at the sight of people cramming food into their mouths. With her eyes fixed on the sight of a hot dog stand, she started out into the street…

Her rational mind didn't even get to rant about how much of a dumbass she was before she was thrown to the ground by a hulking figure from out of nowhere.

She hit the sidewalk, almost rendered unconscious. In her irrationality, she felt her body throbbing with pain and food and drink were long forgotten. Her nose picked up the smell of cologne, husky, reminding her of her husband. Aside from her physical pain, she felt deeper pain of withdrawal.

"Miss? Miss, are you alright?"

Was there someone speaking to her? Not able to open her eyes completely, she squinted up at the form above and found a pair of inquisitive blue eyes. They too reminded her of her husband. But this man's reddish blond hair made him appear more like Robert Redford minus a few wrinkles.

"Miss?" he repeated.

She could not find her voice. The whole thing was just too much for her. The darkness found her again.

no more nice princess>> 


	21. 019 Waiting

****

019 Waiting.

Usually idleness infuriated Oliver Moore, alias Loki. He liked to act with precision and quickly, though, without haste. Haste was dangerous. Loki preferred to get it right the first time and without any insolence that was tremendously common in the human race.

But he couldn't help pausing in his usual daily activities and watching her.

She stood at the window overlooking the rest of Manhattan as if she were waiting for her husband to come home. Her large, deep-set eyes peered outward, but he knew the look of glassy preoccupation. Wearing a simple black skirt and boat-neck shirt, she appeared normal, but her hands, one of which sporting a diamond ring and wedding band, betrayed her calm in their writhing and wringing. Standing, he addressed her, taking notice when she didn't jump, startled, but instead frowning.

"Something wrong?" he inquired.

She stepped back and away from the window and crossed her arms. She was ravishing, refined, and ruminating. Her posture and presentation were stunning, almost spectral. For the second time in his sometimes seemingly secluded and solitary substantiality, he found himself immeasurably interested by the faint feminine wiles of a woman. And just like before, she wasn't his.

"Nothing is wrong."

Loki knew lying when he heard it, and it was obvious that she was lying to him. He almost couldn't blame her. Instead of calling her out on it, he decided to take a different approach.

"You know, you've been awfully quiet since you woke up," he commented. "I'm not used to being in such silent company. Perhaps you could tell me about yourself?"

Her eyes—violet he found, an exquisite color—rested on him as if for the first time. "There's nothing to tell."

"Oh?" The undertone was amused, mocking. And she knew it.

"Oh yes. I don't think the linear details of my life would interest you."

Loki shrugged and sat down again, fingering his glass thoughtfully. He then turned to her with his most disarming smile.

"Try me," he offered.

She gazed up on him, then walked past without a word. He could understand her aloofness; after all, in this day and age, could one really trust anyone? Loki knew for certain that trust was something for weak and spineless people to use on everyone else. But he knew he'd have her attention. And very soon.

"Well, you don't have to tell me anything. I already know all about you, Daniella Yuy."

daniella yuy>> 


	22. 020 Daniella Yuy

DANIELLA YUY

Daniella Elizabeth Yuy.

Daniella E. Yuy.

Danie Elizabeth Yuy.

D. Elizabeth Yuy.

Danie E. Yuy.

No matter how many times I look at it, it never changes. I am Danie Yuy, or Daniella, or whatever you prefer to call me. And I have a huge weight on my chest.

Every time I look down at my wedding ring, I remember my curse. No…our curse. The curse that seems to come when things are calm and tranquil, and manages to break me apart from my husband and my children, sending us all into this cage-like existence in which the slightest move could drop us to the fire-breathing lions below.

It all began when Josie was born. I knew from the moment I looked into her Prussian blue eyes—just like her father's—that she was going to cause quite a stir. And that she did.

When she was six, sometime near my and my husband's sixteenth anniversary, something strange happened one night. I was almost attacked. I answered the door to an assassin…but Josie saved me. She came out of nowhere and delivered a kick that would have knocked any adult over. Luckily, my husband appeared before she could get hurt. Or…maybe she wouldn't have gotten hurt. Maybe she would have saved me…and that thought frightens me.

Two years later, it happened. Several months before Jason was born, Josie, along with her cousins, was kidnapped, and her kidnappers—headed by Regina Peacecraft—aimed to create a group of perfect fighters from the children because of their parentage—with Josie as the leader. Why? My husband, that's why. They wanted to make him suffer, forcing him to see what he really is—or, as I rather think of it, what he has strove not to become ever again—a cold, emotionless fighter with no sense of remorse at all. And it worked.

Right before I found I was pregnant with Jason, he broke down. He cried. I had never seen that before. He feared for the well-being of his little girl and I didn't blame him. I worried too, but back then I thought that things would fold nicely into a little resolution, and we would go on in our happy existence. But I was wrong. So horribly wrong.

After that, Heero became very protective of his little girl. And when she became not-so-little, I could feel him wanting to tighten the noose. I threatened him with the couch and other things, and he was forced to let her go. He watched over Jason more, keeping one eye on Josie, and assured me that none of the things that had happened to Josie would happen to him.

I believed him, because Heero Yuy is a very persuasive person, thanks to yours truly. He and I continued to love our children, and each other too in the same manner as before. The deceptive peace descended upon us for five years.

And now here I stand.

I know this man that threatens me with my past, this Loki. No, it is not his name I know, or where he's from, or who he works for. It's his manner, his intent. I can see it in his eyes—he wants something from me…my child.

I guess the princess I have been for so long has to become a soldier now. So watch out. I will do anything—and I mean anything—to keep you from my Josephine. And if you step too far, as my husband would say, I am going to kill you.

021> 


	23. 021 A Melrose Place Slap in the Face

****

021 A _Melrose Place_ Slap in the Face.

Daniella Yuy fixed Loki with a look that both surprised him and intrigued him. Her eyes were blazing with anger. There was something in her gaze that read, _Kill, kill, kill… _It was a predatory glare, one that could really kill if looks had that effect. Loki quite liked it, actually.

"Something wrong, Mrs. Yuy?" Loki inquired, watching Danie place her palms against his desk as if readying herself for war. Perhaps that was what it was to her—war.

"Yes there is," she snapped. "You mind explaining to me what the hell you think you're doing?"

Loki sat up at her angry maternal tone. "It's quite obvious, Daniella—may I call you that?—that your daughter has some unusual abilities. One of a kind…sort of."

Daniella's anger went down a notch and was replaced by a smidgen of fear. Ah. Fear. He quite loved to see the glassy-eyed, sweat-on-the-eyebrow look of fear. But then Daniella surprised him—and slapped him. Loki held his red cheek for a moment, trying to comprehend what the woman had just done. She…slapped him as if they were in some sensational scene out of a soap opera. It was pure and simple, a _Melrose Place_ slap in the face. Angry, Loki rose and grabbed her shoulders.

"You don't know who you're messing with," Loki hissed, trying to keep his control.

Daniella gave him a defiant stare. "Then we're both in the dark. Because you don't know who you're messing with either."

Loki took in a breath, trying to gain control. It wouldn't help him very much if he suddenly bashed her head into the wall. It would not serve any purpose but to ruin the beautifully cleaned floor. He released her.

"Then enlighten me," he told her, fighting calm. "I think it would benefit you if you cooperated with me."

"You and everybody else!" Daniella growled. "Look I am so fcking sick of you people! Why can't you leave me and my husband alone?"

Husband. For the first time all day, it dawned on him. Who she was. Where he had seen her.

loki>> 


	24. 022 Loki

LOKI

Ah, Daniella Yuy…I know you now.

Way back when, about twenty or so years ago, I had an assignment in California. It was quite a menial thing, nothing compared to what I do now, so I rather forget the details. But I do remember an incident that landed me in the presence of Daniella Yuy.

She was at the local park, and alone. I had been out trying to do something of no importance, and suddenly I bump into her. She had been distracted, in the deep concentration that comes with fighting and training. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, on my back, and looking up into a pair of lovely violet eyes. She apologized profusely and helped me off the ground. She'd accidentally kicked me before I could respond and it sent me to the ground. Quite a feat for a woman—knocking down Oliver Moore. But she was very nice about it, almost regretful. She offered me lunch when I noticed the engagement ring on her finger.

Needless to say, I was quite wary to go squandering in another man's land if you know what I mean. But she was persistent, so we went down to a little restaurant in town—some place her sister owned.

We had a quaint little lunch. She tells me a lot about herself: she was born in New York, she has five sisters and one brother, and she is in fact getting married. Of course, she doesn't seem too happy about that. She divulges later that her fiancé will be leaving after they get married. I clucked my tongue and said a few oh-that's-terribles, patting her back as her eyes filled with tears. It was quite an awkward scene for me but she didn't notice.

So I changed the subject. I then asked her why she had been out in the park training.

I can still remember the look on her face, one of determination, like she could conquer the world. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes steely. But I knew it wasn't me she was mad at; like most, her anger was directed at an abstract assailant.

And then she said, looking me dead in the eye, "I am trying to protect my children."


End file.
